A New Kind of Sleeping Pill
by ForeverShippingJohnlock
Summary: John is awoken by another nightmare, only to discover that Sherlock's melodious voice works just as well as any sedative...
1. Chapter 1

A New Kind of Sleeping Pill

_Agonized screams pierced John's ears as he saw his next patient being carried in on a stretcher. He felt bile rise in his throat as he examined the young soldier. Both of his legs had been seemingly blown off, from the mid-thigh down. There was blood everywhere, and it was gushing freely from the gruesome wounds. The boy seemed barely older than a teenager; John guessed that it was his first tour. He and a few nurses scrambled to get cloths and bandages to help staunch the heavy blood flow. However, the boy had already lost so much blood and the white cloths were turning dark red far too quickly. John saw the boy's eyes begin to flutter and knew it was too late. The young soldier took a last shuddering breath and-_

John sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. He was covered in a light sheen of cold sweat. He rolled over and glanced at the clock. John groaned; it was 2:30 in the morning. Trying to take deep breaths to calm the panic he felt, he slowly stumbled his way into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. He tried to get back to sleep, but whenever he closed his eyes all he could see was the mutilated body of the dead soldier. With a sigh, he made his way downstairs to make a cup of tea.

Upon entering the living room, he wasn't at all surprised to see Sherlock sitting on the couch, immersed in a book. John shook his head in disapproval at the detective's unhealthy sleeping habits, but remained silent as he made his way to the stove.

"Nightmare?" Sherlock asked calmly, his eyes never leaving his book.

"Yeah, don't wanna talk about it. Fancy a cuppa?" John replied, changing the subject. Sherlock hummed in agreement.

When the kettle boiled he brought over the two cups and sat one down in front of Sherlock as he plopped on the couch next to him, tentatively taking a sip of his own cup. The tea helped slightly, making him warm and a bit sleepy, but he was still on edge. He set his tea down and peered at the title of Sherlock's book. It read "_The Origin and Early Diversification of Land Plants: A Cladistic Study_". John chuckled.

"Sounds thrilling." he said, gesturing toward the book. Sherlock smirked.

"One can always do with a bit of light reading." he replied.

They looked at each other and began to laugh. Sherlock's deep tones resonated within the room, causing John to shiver. Just then, an idea struck him. However, he didn't quite know how to go about asking. The laughter having subsided, John awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Erm- Sherlock…would you mind-I mean you can say no, but I was just wondering if you could-"

"If I could what?" Sherlock interrupted, a hint of annoyance evident in his voice.

"Could you read to me?" John asked quickly, feeling a little childish. He knew that the man's velvety baritone would be just as effective as any sleeping pill. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I highly doubt it will be of much interest to you…" Sherlock said, slightly confused.

"I know, but it'll help me sleep." John replied, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Well, I suppose I could." Sherlock replied. With that, he cleared his throat and started to read. John tilted his head back and let his eyes fall closed.

"Land plants (embryophytes) are most closely related to the Charophyceae, a small group of predominantly freshwater green algae, within which either Coleochaetales (15 living species) or Charales (400 living species), or a group containing both, is sister group to land plants. Land-plant monophyly is supported by comparative morphology and gene sequences. Relationships among the major basal living groups are uncertain, but the best- supported hypothesis resolves liverworts as basal and either mosses or hornworts as the living sister group to vascular plants (tracheophytes). Less parsimonious hypotheses recognize…"

John stopped focusing on the words and just let himself become entranced by Sherlock's voice. He slowly felt himself drifting in and out of consciousness. Barely awake, he vaguely felt his body gently being pulled down into a lying position, his head resting on what could only be Sherlock's lap. A hand then started to thread through John's hair. However, John was in no state of mind to really process what was going on and just enjoyed the calming sensation. A second before he let sleep overtake him, the reading paused and he heard a voice whisper softly to him and a pair of lips press softly to his forehead.

"Sleep well, my dear doctor."

**Author's Note: Hope you liked it! I've been obsessed with the recording of Benedict Cumberbatch reading "Ode To A Nightingale" and while I was listening to it, this little idea came to me :D It has the possibility for a second chapter, so if you want me to continue it (or have any ideas on what you would want to happen next), refer to the little box beneath this story ;D**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Well it's finally here! I honestly didn't think I was ever going to get to it, but I guess I was wrong :P Thank you all so much for your support, I'm thrilled to say that this story now has over 1000 reads! You guys are great :) Hope you enjoy!**

The next morning, John woke up slowly. He blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the bright light coming in through the living room windows.

_Wait, the living room? _

John lifted his head from where it had been sitting and jolted awake in surprise as he saw just what exactly he had been lying _on._ Sherlock tilted his head to look at him.

"Problem?" he asked calmly. John's embarrassment manifested itself into frustration as he answered him.

"Yes there bloody well is a problem! I just slept on my _male _flatmate!" he exclaimed. Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"John, you had a nightmare, and sought comfort. Comfort, which I seemed to have given successfully, considering how fast you slipped into REM sleep. That is what friends do, is it not?" he replied, with an air of annoyance. John just pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He should be grateful, last night was the best sleep he had gotten in a very long while.

"Yes, I suppose it is. Thanks, Sherlock, it really did help." John said. Sherlock just nodded and reached for his violin.

A few days passed and neither of the two men spoke about the incident. John didn't really want to think about the fact that he actually enjoyed sleeping with Sherlock. He pushed all thoughts of his possible sexual identity crisis to the back of his mind. After all, Sherlock had made it perfectly clear that he was married to his work. What they had now was amazing, and John didn't want to spoil it with his quickly developing, not to mention most likely unreciprocated, feelings for the detective. So, he tried to forget about it. He was just starting to make a little progress until the night that Sherlock yelled in his sleep.

"JOHN!"

John woke up at the loud noise and immediately ran to Sherlock's room, expecting the worst. However, upon throwing open the door expecting some kind of danger, he was surprised to find Sherlock still in bed, thrashing about in his sleep. His skin was glistening with sweat, the bed sheets tangling around his flailing limbs, and he kept mumbling things in a distressed tone.

"Mmph…No…NO…oh god…no please not John…JOHN NO!"

John stopped and stared for a moment, shocked, but then leapt into action and strode over to the detective's bed. He started shaking his shoulder, trying to wake him up while calling his name.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up! It's just a dream, it's not real, wake up!"

All of a sudden, Sherlock gasped and sat straight up in bed, breathing hard. His head whipped around the room, trying to determine where he was, and his startled eyes settled on John's worried face. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze.

"I'm sorry to have woken you." Sherlock said quietly. John sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder comfortingly. Sherlock looked at him.

"It's fine, it's not like I haven't woken you up before with my nightmares." John said. "Do you want to talk about it?" he added tentatively. Sherlock took a deep breath and shut his eyes.

"It was Moriarty. He had you. When I got to where you were, you were covered in gasoline. He-he lit a match and- and he…he burned the heart out of me, John. He just stood there, laughing. I was too late. I couldn't do anything. I was helpless, _weak._" he said, hissing the last word in disgust.

Sherlock's voice was shaky, but it was clear that he was trying to hide it. John realized he was also trembling. Without another thought, he encircled the frightened detective into his arms. Sherlock didn't return the embrace, but he leaned into it slightly, resting his face on John's shoulder. And if John felt tears soaking into his shirt, he didn't say anything about it. John lifted his hand to the back of Sherlock's head and ran his fingers through the curls there, in what he hoped was a comforting manner. It seemed to be working because after a few minutes, the trembling slowed and ceased. Sherlock then lifted his head to look at John.

"Distract me…please." Sherlock said. John stared at the detective's tear stained face. He was worried; never before had he seen Sherlock looking so vulnerable.

"How?" John asked.

"Just…talk to me." Sherlock replied.

"What about?"

"Anything."

"Alright, get comfortable then."

John then disengaged Sherlock from his arms (he could've sworn he saw Sherlock frown a bit at that) and they lay down in the bed; Sherlock on his side looking at John, and John on his back with his hands behind his head looking at the ceiling. He then started to tell Sherlock one of his happier adventures from his time in Afghanistan, something that he knew Sherlock secretly enjoyed.

John didn't make a big deal over the fact that he and Sherlock were currently crossing some friendship boundaries by sharing the same bed; the detective clearly needed his blogger.

When John was finished his story, he looked over at Sherlock and smiled fondly as he took in the sight of his peaceful, softly snoring flatmate. He then turned on his side facing Sherlock, and let sleep claim him.

**Author's Note: So I'm going to do one more chapter on this, a resolution of sorts. Don't worry though, this time it won't take me months XD I'll get it done within the next couple days :) Reviews and the like are, as always, appreciated! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Sorry this was a bit later than intended (school has been crazy with exams and such), but hey, at least it didn't take me months this time, right? ;) Anyway, I hope you enjoy the last chapter (even though it's a bit short). I had a **_**lot **_**of fun writing this one, it's my favourite chapter I've written, so I hope you like it too! Enjoy :)**

John awoke the next morning with a smile on his face. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to get up yet. He spent a few minutes just basking in the comfort that he was currently feeling, and then let his eyes slowly open. However, he was startled when his gaze was met with an icy blue stare.

Sherlock was positioned on his side facing John, his head propped up on his hand. He regarded the doctor with a curious look. John felt slightly uncomfortable under the intense and scrutinizing eyes. John also noted, with a small fluttering of his heart, that there was _very _little space between them.

"You know, staring at someone while they sleep could be considered creepy." John said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh? I was under the impression that it was thought to be romantic." Sherlock replied in an undecipherable tone. John smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, maybe in teenage vampire novels…" he replied. Sherlock furrowed his brow, not understanding the cultural reference. John chuckled.

"Nevermind…"

Sherlock's gaze flitted away for a second, then back to John's face. It looked to John as if the detective wanted to ask a question, but was uncertain about it. John stiffened slightly, what if Sherlock was trying to figure out a way to politely ask him to get the hell out of his bed? John then relaxed as he dismissed the thought. Sherlock was many things, but one thing he certainly wasn't was delicate. John comforted himself with the knowledge that if his flatmate wanted him out of his room, then he would have just bluntly said so. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"What are we?"

John was a bit taken aback by the detective's innocent and abrupt question.

"Well, we're friends." John said, questioningly.

"John, I am well aware that I am not an expert at relationships, but even I know that what we have seems to go beyond a normal friendship, even that of best friends. So, I'll ask again, what are we?" Sherlock replied, his tone still not giving anything away. John paused for a moment before replying.

"Erm- what would you like us to be?" John asked, a slight blush beginning to tint his cheeks. Sherlock shifted even closer.

"Well that, my dearest doctor, would depend entirely upon you." Sherlock replied with a mischievous smile. John was struck speechless, and the extremely close proximity to the object of his affections certainly wasn't helping. John opened his mouth several times to say something, but stopped himself each time. His gaze dropped to Sherlock's lips, which were mere inches away from his.

"Oh, sod it." John said finally, closing the short distance between them and kissing Sherlock thoroughly. To John's delight, Sherlock returned the kiss just as enthusiastically. It was a bit messy at first, both men trying to find their rhythm, but it was perfected very quickly. The kiss turned into one of ecstasy, both men's lips moving in perfect harmony, their tongues tangling in an elegant dance.

Suddenly, Sherlock was on top of John, straddling him. Sherlock ran his hands down John's chest, but, much to John's disappointment, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked down at John, his kiss-swollen lips forming a smirk.

"So, definitely more than friends then?" he asked, panting slightly. John laughed.

"Oh, god yes." he replied, grabbing the curls at the back of Sherlock's head to bring his head down, reconnecting their lips. John smiled into the kiss as he thought to himself.

_Maybe nightmares aren't quite so terrible after all…_

**Author's Note: Well there it is! It's been really great, this is my first multi-chapter story that I've finished. Thank you to every one of you that supported me along the way! Reviews and the like are, as always, appreciated :D**


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